Quinn, the Teenage Witch
by TheLennoxFan
Summary: Quinn discovers something unexpected about herself after being kicked out of Cheerios practice.


**A/N: **This fic will have about 9 chapters and is not a Faberry version of the tv series, Sabrina, the Teenage Witch. I just stole the name. But there will be Faberry eventually! :P Anyway I hope you enjoy it and please review. :)

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

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><p>Quinn stared at the jagged bits of painted ceramic scattered across the hardwood floor in shock. Her mouth hung open as her eyes took in the spilled potting soil and the slightly wilted green leaves and dying yellow flowers that lay among the pieces of the broken decoration. She closed her eyes tightly, hoping that the mess would be gone when she opened them; however she was met with the same mess. She shook her head in disbelief and headed for the storage closet to grab the broom.<p>

As she swept the potting soil and broken shards up, she imagined how mad her mom was going to be when she came home and saw that her favorite pot had been smashed, even if it was by complete accident. The 'accident', though, that was what baffled her about the situation.

Her so called best friend had taken to pushing her buttons recently and on this particular day, she had pushed the head Cheerio to her limit. She was used to the normal snarkyness and quips, but today Santana had stepped over the line. Mentioning Beth just after the blonde had fallen from the top of the pyramid (Santana's fault) had not been the Latina's brightest idea. The swollen nose and the two black eyes she would likely be sporting the next day would attest to that.

As soon as Quinn arrived home when Sylvester threw her out of practice for decking her teammate, she had looked for anything that might quell the anger stewing in the pit of her stomach. The sound of the front door slamming had echoed through the empty house causing the windows in the entry way to vibrate. She stomped into the kitchen in a blind rage, throwing her duffle bag onto the ground in the process. She had glanced at the colorful pot with the cute little bumblebees and flowers hand painted on its shiny surface, just _glanced_ at it, and next thing she knew, the ceramic was hurtling of its own accord toward the pantry door before impacting it with shattering force.

She was certain, even through her blinding anger, that she had not once touched the pot nor gotten close enough to disturb it from its former resting place on the bar. She walked around the tiled bar slowly, cautiously approaching the mess as if she were nervous that it might suddenly burst into flames. She may not have had a clue what had caused the accident, but one thing was certain: her mom was going to be _pissed_.

After the remains of the pot and the soil were separated, the dirt in the trashcan under the sink and the shards of ceramic in a neat pile on the countertop, she sat on the leather couch in the living room to work on her homework and wait for her mother to arrive. She was in the middle of working out the trajectory of the rocket little Sally shot at Jimmy when she heard the sound of a key turning in the front door. She was on her feet and at the stained glass door before her mother could even get it open.

"Quinnie! I didn't think you'd be home yet. Did you not have cheer practice?"

"I- uh- I was asked to leave, but I have to tell you something before you go into the kit-"

"What do you mean you were asked to leave?" the older blonde asked over her shoulder as she took the few grocery bags she held towards the kitchen.

"Mom, wait-"

Quinn closed her eyes as she heard her mother inhale sharply.

"Quinn Fabray, what is this?"

The cheerleader timidly walked into the space and saw her mother glaring at the shattered remains of the pot on the counter.

"Mom, I swear I didn't do that."

The older woman put her hands on her hips, letting her daughter know that she didn't believe her.

"Oh, you didn't? Well, I guess it was the other seventeen year old that lives in this house."

"Mom! Please let me explain!"

The woman raised her eyebrow at the tone the girl was taking with her and crossed her arms.

"You better start now, young lady."

Quinn opened her mouth debating upon whether to tell her mom a lie and be punished or to tell her the truth and… be punished and possibly enrolled in therapy. She met the older blonde's questioning gaze and sighed nervously.

"You see, I was really mad because of something Santana said at practice and when I got home I was still so angry and I came into the kitchen and I just looked at the pot, just _looked_ mom, and it flew off the counter and into the door. I know that sounds crazy, but you've got to believe me."

Judy Fabray was silent for several moments and Quinn bit her lip and knitted her brows in anticipation, certain that she was about to be yelled at. She was surprised, however, when the woman pulled out a bar stool and sat down, gesturing for her daughter to do the same. The older woman gently took one of the girl's hands and Quinn was shocked to see that blue eyes had tears in them when her mother finally met her gaze.

"Mom?"

"I'm a terrible mother."

"Mom…"

"But I am." She sighed. "I hope you know that everything I have done was to protect you. I know I've made a lot of mistakes in raising you and your sister, but I never meant to hurt you." Quinn swallowed thickly at the sight of her mother's eyes welling up with unshed tears. "Quinnie, I should have told you something very important a long time ago."

She patted the younger girl on the knee and stood.

"There's something I need to show you."

The confused cheerleader followed her mom into the garage and up the steep stairs that led into the attic, squinting in the dim light.

"What could be up here that's so important? It's dusty and it smells like old people."

The older woman ignored her daughter's whining as she mumbled to herself, searching through the stacks of boxes and crates, most of them containing items that had belonged to Quinn's father or were filled with Christmas decorations. Judy smiled and let out a quiet "aha!" as she picked up an ancient looking wooden crate and set it on top of one of the shorter stacks of boxes. In one motion she swept the thick layer up dust of the lid, causing Quinn to sneeze, and opened it. She rummaged around for a second before pulling a yellowing envelope out and handing it to the teenager.

The paper of the envelope felt fragile in Quinn's hands, as if it might crumble at any second. The teenager's name was scrawled across the front in loopy cursive in fading black ink. She looked at her mother in confusion.

"It's from your Grandma Prudence."

The furrow between Quinn's eyebrows deepened.

"But she died when I was five."

Quinn was lost. She had no idea what this old letter, or whatever it was, from her grandma that she hardly knew had to do with her mom's cutesy kitchen decorations going suicidal. She met her mother's gaze with a befuddled frown.

"Open it, Quinnie."

She did. It was difficult to remove the delicate paper, also yellowed with age, from the envelope without tearing it and as soon as it was free she carefully unfolded it.

_To my dearest Quinnie,_

_The doctors have told me that I only have a few weeks left, at best. I wanted so much to be able to watch you grow up and to be a part of your life. I am so sorry I have to leave you like this, but I want you to know that I love you so much and I always will._

The cheerleader felt a strange tightness in her chest at the thought of this woman, who she had barely gotten to know, caring so deeply for her.

_I've asked my daughter to give this to you once you've reached the age of thirteen._

Quinn looked up from the aged paper to glare at her mother who looked away sheepishly.

_I am about to tell you something that you will likely find hard to believe. I want you to try to keep an open mind and read the entire letter before you jump to any conclusions._

_I was born with magic in my blood and were too. Quinn, you're a witch._

Hazel eyes widened in disbelief but she couldn't force her attention from the faded words.

_Before you ask your mother any questions, the magic gene always skips a generation and is always bestowed upon the second born of the same gender of the carrier. You were chosen to receive this very special gift and you will be wise to follow the advice in this letter._

_Magic will not make itself known in an individual until after the onset of puberty._

But Quinn had started her period at the age of twelve, shouldn't she have known then?

_However, it is important to know that your powers may take longer than that to appear. They are normally triggered for the first time by a strong emotion, typically anger._

That explained the smashed plant.

_But you must be cautious as after they are first triggered, they will be with you for the rest of your life. You will go through a magical puberty of sorts as your powers mature. This is the time in your life when they will be the hardest to control. Strong emotions, such as anger, excitement, and even lust, could cause chaos without the proper training. You could injure or even kill someone or yourself without meaning any harm if you can't control them._

Quinn blanched at the last line.

_But not to fret dear, that only happens in the rarest of occasions._

_I am so sorry I will not be there to teach you and guide you through this time in your life, but I have left with your mother a contact of mine who I believe will be a more than suitable mentor. Please promise me that above all you will be careful. Abusing your magic is not only dangerous for yourself but also for others. _

_I love you, Quinnie. Make me proud,_

_Your Grandma_

Quinn blinked disbelievingly at the letter before looking up at her mother with wide eyes.

"This has to be a joke. It is, isn't it?"

The older woman sighed.

"Your grandma said if you were anything at all like you father that this would be hard on you."

"I am _nothing _like him."

The cheerleader growled at being compared to the man who had thrown her to the wolves during her time of need but was quickly distracted by her mother pulling a thick, leather bound book that looked even older than the letter out of the crate. She opened it to a dog-eared page and placed it in her daughter's lap. She squinted at the page filled with text, but could not understand a word of it.

"What _is _this?"

"This was your grandmother's spellbook. It's been passed down several generations."

"Okay, but that doesn't explain why I can't read it. What is this written in, Swahili?"

Judy glanced disapprovingly at her daughter for her attitude before answering.

"It's in Latin. It's the language magic uses." She pointed to a line on the page that she thought she could remember her own mother reciting on occasion. "Here, read this."

Quinn looked at her mother warily.

"Shouldn't I have a wand or something?"

"This isn't Harry Potter, sweetie."

"Well, if the house blows up, it's your fault." She took a deep breath and focused on the unfamiliar words on the page. "_Incendia incendia igneus perspicuus in meus manus manus lux lucis a lux lucis_."

For a moment nothing happened. Suddenly it was as if someone had wrapped Quinn in a heating blanket. She felt deliciously warm and calm as what she assumed was magic flowed through her veins. This feeling lasted only a few short seconds before her left palm burst into magenta flames.

"HOLY SHIT! Mom! Get it off! Put it out!" She was vaguely aware that the fire was, in fact, not burning her whatsoever and also somewhat aware that waving her arm around frantically while it was on fire was not a good course of action when she was surrounded by so many flammable objects, but the fact remained that her hand was on fire and that was _not _normal. She shoved the book out of her lap with her hand that wasn't a fireball and danced around the room like a maniac.

When she finally tried closing her hand into a fist in a last ditch attempt to put out the flame, it immediately distinguished itself. She stared at her hand with wide eyes before looking to her mother who was trembling and holding a life-size tin Santa cutout in front of her as some sort of shield. She took a few shaky steps towards the older woman before her world suddenly went black.

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><p>When she awoke, she was reclining on the chaise in the study and her mother was standing above her and slapping her cheek lightly. She batted the hand away and sat up rubbing her head. She swung her legs over so that they were hanging over the side of the piece of furniture and rested her elbows on her knees, putting her face in her hands. She felt the padding dip beside her and sighed.<p>

"Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

There was a brief moment of silence before the older woman began to speak.

"Your dad… Your father is a very religious man." Quinn scoffed at that. "If he had known that you are a witch and that I am the carrier, he would have had us both shipped off. I just wanted to protect you, Quinnie."

"Just like you protected me when he kicked me out?"

It was a low blow and the cheerleader regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth and she saw her mother flinch.

"You and I both know that you were in a much healthier environment for both you and the baby when you were not living here with him, but I regret letting you leave every day."

Quinn nodded and leaned her head against the older blonde's shoulder in a rare show of affection both to express her silent apology and because her head was beginning to feel heavy.

"What now?"

A soft hand began to stroke her hair gently.

"I will call your mentor tomorrow so I won't have to replace anymore of my breakables and they will explain better than I can what is happening."

"M'kay."

The hand in her hair was quickly beginning to lull her to sleep and she couldn't recall being this close to her mother in years.

"Quinnie?"

"Hmm?"

"You said you were kicked out of practice?"

Quinn sat up and turned her head to look at her mother.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"I am your mother. I have a right to be concerned about you behavior."

"Well, Santana might have purposely undermined the pyramid I was at the top of and I might have called her out on it and she might have called me a two dollar white trash crack whore who had a bad habit of having children I couldn't keep and I may have or may have not punched her in the face…"

"Quinnie, I love you and that wasn't nice of her to say, but you are _so_ grounded."


End file.
